A Thousand Furs (Allerleirauh)
by Pemberley Postponed
Summary: A retelling of the fairytales Allerleirauh and Sapsorrow ... ..."Come, ye creatures of the wood – appear! / Lynx and lion, wolf and fox and bear / Come! Oh, badger, squirrel, shrew and mole / Deer and otter, wild boar and vole! / Heed thy princess in her darkest hour: / Come, my forest friends, unto my bower!" [Princess Luralai/Prince Faravel]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N** This saga-poem is based on the Brothers' Grimm folk-tale Allerleirauh, or "A Thousand Furs" in English. There are similar tales from other countries such as "Catskin", "Donkey Skin", "Cap o Rushes" and "Sapsorrow", and this version borrows tidbits from all. __It follows the trials of Luralai, a princess who is forced to flee from her mad father who demands to marry her. She hatches a plan to escape by creating a cloak made of a thousand different kinds of fur (donated by her woodland friends).  
_ _I've always had a deep fascination with this fairytale. As a child, it was the three magical dresses which did it for me (one as golden as the sun, one as silver as the moon, one as sparkling as the stars). But as I got older I really appreciated the fact that the princess is not a passive damsel-in-distress, but takes matters into her own hands when things get rough.  
_ _There are two lovely television productions of this story I highly recommend watching. The BBC version is called "Sapsorrow" and is a part of a brilliant late-80s series called The Storyteller, which was made in collaboration with the great Jim Henson (ala Labyrinth and the Muppets). I believe you can watch the series on you tube. And there is also a German version Allerleirauh (early 90s) which is also beautifully produced, but I haven't been able to find it with English subtitles (plus the prince is a bit of a jerk in that one).  
_ _The poem is written in 2 parts, each containing 12 page-long stanzas, plus an epilogue. If you like it, please leave a review (although given the obscurity of the subject matter and my choice of poetry-presentation, I'm not exactly holding my breath)._

 _Copyright 2015_

 _..._

* * *

PART I

I.

 _A King once wed a Queen with golden hair,_

 _They had three daughters full of beauty rare:_

 _Fair as lilies, fine as costly pearls,_

 _Never were there three such lovely girls._

 _Mirabelle, the eldest of the three_

 _Was tall and beautiful, but proud was she._

 _Daramina had both wit and grace,_

 _But too vain was she, of her own face!_

 _Only Luralai, the youngest child_

 _Was as fair as she was sweet and mild_

 _And, exactly like her mother Queen,_

 _Lura's hair was of a golden sheen._

 _But her elder sisters liked her not,_

 _Ridicule and scorn became her lot_

 _For their jealous hearts could not well bear_

 _So much goodness in a face so fair._

 _"Sister," mocked the eldest, "let us be!_

 _We want no gauche chits for company."_

 _"La!" the other cried, "She is so fey!_

 _Such big eyes will scare our beaux away!"_

 _Then the pair would laugh and whisper so:_

 _"She's a creeping little thing, you know."_

 _Oh, kind words! Such sisterly devotion!_

 _Envy is, indeed, a cruel emotion._

 _Thus fair Lura from a young age learned_

 _She must love, e'en where her love was spurned._

 _Shunned by her own kin, young Luralai_

 _Wandered through the wooded lands nearby_

 _Making friends with all the beasts and birds_

 _Learning how to speak their secret words –_

 _And, indeed, the creatures in the wood_

 _Loved the princess, for her heart was good._


	2. Chapter 2

II.

 _Years passed. Soon the sisters were full grown_

 _No misfortune having truly known._

 _Then - calamity! The Queen fell ill,_

 _Nor could she be cured by herb or pill._

 _Ere a week had passed, she scarce drew breath_

 _And soon lay at the very doors of death._

 _By her side, her loving King didst kneel,_

 _To his ear she made her last appeal:_

 _"Husband, promise me that when I've died_

 _Thou wilt seek another Queen and bride._

 _May she be as fair as me, as fine,_

 _May her hair be shining gold, like mine;_

 _Last of all - oh, promise me, my King! -_

 _May her finger fit my wedding ring."_

 _Such were her last words: no more she said._

 _Alas! The Queen was dead! The Queen was dead._

 _The King was wracked with sorrow and despair:_

 _No-one in the world he'd held more dear._

 _Gladly he'd have lain down his own life_

 _If it could have purchased back his wife._

 _Many days, he neither ate nor drank_

 _To all comfort was he wholly blank_

 _Floundering in misery and gloom,_

 _Sitting night and day by his Queen's tomb._

 _And, indeed, he'd soon have joined her there_

 _Had not Luralai assumed his care,_

 _Bringing laden trays of wine and meat_

 _Gently pleading him to drink and eat._

 _"For," she said, "thy daughters love thee so,_

 _Wouldst thou see us orphaned, father? - No."_

 _Thus with tender words did Lura save_

 _Her own father from an early grave._


	3. Chapter 3

III.

 _One year passed, yet still the King did mourn,_

 _Wring his hands, and pace about, forlorn._

 _In his grief, he seemed as if to drown,_

 _Heeding not the duties of his crown._

 _"He must have a new wife," people said,_

 _"One to turn his mind from she who's dead."_

 _The King's advisers, counsellers and court_

 _Urged him to give matrimony thought._

 _"Sire," they coaxed, "'think of thy country, too,_

 _Our people need a Queen as much as you."_

 _So the King agreed to take a bride_

 _Such as his late wife had specified:_

 _Beauty she must have, and golden hair,_

 _And succeed her wedding ring to wear._

 _If these things were not in one girl met_

 _There would be no Queen. His mind was set._

 _Messengers were sent out far and wide_

 _For to seek a suitable young bride._

 _Soon the word had spread about like fire:_

 _His Majesty a new Queen did require!_

 _Gold-haired beauties from throughout the land_

 _Came to try the ring upon their hand,_

 _Maidens rich and poor, high-born and low_

 _Joined a queue that ever seemed to grow._

 _Dukes' and barons' daughters draped in pearls_

 _Lined up next to humble farmers' girls,_

 _Creamy silks and brightly coloured tulles_

 _Brushed against the plainest home-spun wools._

 _Now the castle thronged with noise and life:_

 _Which fair maid would be the King's new wife?_

 _…But, though many hundred damsels tried_

 _None could fit the ring. – There was no bride._


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

 _With such hub and bustle everywhere_

 _How did the three princess-sisters fare?_

 _Mirabelle was filled with wrathful scorn:_

 _"Such a farce," she said, "shouldst not be borne!_

 _How can Father even think to wed_

 _When Mama is hardly one year dead?"_

 _Daramina tossed her pretty curls._

 _"What a scene!" she cried, "What horrid girls!_

 _Why shouldst we be dressed all black and mean_

 _While these common hussies flaunt and preen?"_

 _Lura gently spoke: "Dear sisters: think!_

 _Poor Papa beneath his grief doth sink._

 _Surely, when he finds a maid to marry_

 _She must help his tribulations carry."_

 _Mirabelle and Daramina scoffed._

 _"Thou wouldst see some farm-wench held aloft_

 _Over us - of royal birth and station!_

 _How canst thou applaud such degradation?"_

 _"Nay, I'm certain," Luralai replied,_

 _"Father will select a fitting bride."_

 _But her sisters only mocked her words,_

 _"Aye," quoth they, "quite fit to tend the herds."_

 _But, indeed, they needn't have been vexed,_

 _For it seemed the wedding ring was hexed:_

 _Days turned into weeks and months - but still_

 _No maid could the dead Queen's wish fulfill._

 _Gradually the long and bustling queue_

 _Shrank and dwindled to a very few._

 _Then one day, the queue was no more seen._

 _There was no-one left, and still no Queen._

 _So the ring was shut inside a case:_

 _On a lofty stand it now kept place._


	5. Chapter 5

V.

 _Winter came, and with it deepest snow._

 _O'er the lands a bitter wind didst blow,_

 _Penetrating through the castle walls,_

 _Bringing ghostly echoes to its halls._

 _Lura watched the world through frosty glass._

 _Slowly, slowly seemed the months to pass._

 _"Poor papa," she sighed, "grows worse and worse_

 _Wasting under Melancholy's curse:_

 _'Tis too bad no new Queen could be found._

 _Aye, I fear, his heart is in the ground_

 _With my mother. He didst love her so..._

 _How canst he be cured of his woe?_

 _Grief so often doth to madness bind."_

 _\- Thus she worried for her father's mind._

 _Where could Lura go to counsel seek?_

 _Rarely did her sisters with her speak,_

 _Seldom did she see another friend:_

 _Most were gone until the winter's end._

 _So young Lura wandered on her own_

 _Through the silent chambers, quite alone,_

 _Waiting anxiously for coming spring_

 _Whence might come some succour for the King._

 _One day, Lura passed the great Throne Room,_

 _There she heard a noise within its gloom!_

 _"Who is there?" she wondered, turning pale,_

 _"It's been shut ere father's health did fail."_

 _Cautiously she pushed the oak doors wide,_

 _Swiftly, silently she slipped inside._

 _Near the empty thrones, the shadows stirred -_

 _Was that laughter Luralai now heard?_

 _Who was there? What ghost? What strange, fell thing?..._

 _'Twas her sisters trying on the ring!_


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

 _"Mira! – Dara! – Stop! Oh, stop, I pray!_

 _'Tis not right with that object to play:_

 _Think what mischief from it might arise!" -_

 _Such were Lura's shocked and troubled cries._

 _"Sneaking thing!" retorted Mirabelle,_

 _"Now, no doubt, you'll run and father tell."_

 _"Aye," chimed Daramina, "Let her run!_

 _We were only having harmless fun."_

 _"Nay," said Lura, "I'll not of this speak -_

 _Put it by: some other pastime seek."_

 _Dara, in whose hands the ring now lay_

 _Tossed the item carelessly away._

 _With a TING! it hit the marble floor,_

 _Rolled away, and could be seen no more._

 _"Put it by yourself - if it you find!_

 _We have other, better things to mind."_

 _So the scornful sisters did depart,_

 _Leaving Lura, with an anxious heart_

 _For to seek her mother's wedding band_

 _And restore it to its rightful stand._

 _By and bye she saw a glint of gold._

 _"Thanks to God!" she said, "The ring has rolled_

 _Under yonder oaken cabinet._

 _I will fetch it from its prison yet."_

 _With some struggle, Lura freed the ring:_

 _Swiftly to its case she did it bring -_

 _But 'ere she could stow it safely there_

 _An awful shout resounded through the air:_

 _"Thou hast taken out the ring!" it cried,_

 _"If it fits thee, thou shalt be my bride!"_

 _Ere she could escape, her father King_

 _Seized her hand and fastened on the ring._


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

 _Woe! The King was mad! Most bitter woe!_

 _He would fain his daughter wed! – Ah, no!_

 _Vainly did poor Lura weep and plead:_

 _Neither words nor tears the King did heed._

 _Did she not, said he, have golden hair?_

 _Did she not succeed the ring to wear?_

 _Could she these two facts deny? - Why, no!_

 _Woe for Lura! Oh, most dreadful woe!_

 _Now the court was paralysed with shock._

 _Would the laws of God, their King so mock?_

 _All the kingdom reeled in disbelief:_

 _Such an outrage must lead straight to grief!_

 _"This will bring thee ruin, Sire!" they said,_

 _"'Tis not legal to thy daughter wed!"_

 _But the King had now lost every reason._

 _"Thwart my will," he cried, "And die for treason!"_

 _Thus the frightened people, overawed,_

 _Dared not to oppose what they abhorred._

 _Lura, in despair and desolation_

 _Begged her sisters for their mediation:_

 _"Speak with father – ask him sense to see –_

 _He may listen to his family!"_

 _Her entreaties were to no avail._

 _"What an act!" they cried, "Oh, what a tale!_

 _Now 'tis plain as day – we should have seen_

 _All along you wanted to be Queen!_

 _Weeping tears to hide thy spiteful smile,_

 _Just as doth the scheming crocodile."_

 _So poor Lura was by all forsaken,_

 _Left to face the path cruel Fate had taken._

 _"But," she vowed, "the day that I must wed,_

 _I'll be far away. - Or I'll be dead."_


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

 _"In a week we wed!" the King declared._

 _"Nay," said Lura, "I'm not yet prepared:_

 _First I need a trousseau - all brides do._

 _'Til I have one, I can't marry you!"_

 _"Aye, 'tis fair," her father did concede,_

 _"Name the articles that thou dost need."_

 _Hoping for to set too hard a task_

 _Lura answered, "Hearken what I ask:_

 _Ere I wed, I fain wouldst have three dresses_

 _Such as no one in this world possesses:_

 _One, as golden as the sun at noon,_

 _One, as silver as a winter moon,_

 _Lastly I shall need a bridal gown_

 _Sparkling like a star from Heaven's crown._

 _Bring me three such dresses," Lura said,_

 _"Only then will I agree to wed."_

 _Thus she sought to stall the wedding date_

 _And impending doom prevaricate._

 _"Fetch the finest stitchers!" cried the King,_

 _"Spinners, weavers, to the castle bring!_

 _Every needle-woman rouse to hand,_

 _Summon every tailor in the land!_

 _None shall idle rest - not one shall tarry -_

 _By this winter's end I mean to marry!"_

 _So the finest dress-makers were brought_

 _In great numbers to the royal court._

 _Day and night a thousand needles flashed,_

 _Spinning wheels whirred and great looms crashed:_

 _Night and day they stitched and they did sew,_

 _For to finish Luralai's trousseau._

 _Meanwhile, in her room, the princess prayed_

 _That her dresses never would be made._


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

 _Then the dreaded news came, "It is done!_

 _A dress as golden as the noon-day sun!"_

 _"Nay! It cannot be," gasped Luralai,_

 _"Three weeks hath not even passed us by!_

 _How could such impossible a feat_

 _Be already finished and complete?"_

 _But, alas for Lura, it was true._

 _Now the gown was brought for her to view:_

 _Such a dress as ne'er before was made,_

 _Cut from yards of shining gold brocade,_

 _Stitched exquisitely, and overspread_

 _With the finest lace of golden thread._

 _Every hem with golden cord was strung,_

 _Golden beads from golden trimming hung,_

 _And a cloak of supple silk and braid_

 _Billowed in an endless gold cascade._

 _'Twas so rich and wondrous to behold_

 _That the very room seemed lit with gold!_

 _In the King came, for the dress to see:_

 _"Is it not as thou desired?" asked he,_

 _"Like the very rays the sun doth cast?"_

 _Lura hung her head and wept, aghast._

 _"Yes," the poor girl whispered, "it is so._

 _Would that it were rags and tatters, though."_

 _To her chamber Lura took the gown,_

 _There she crushed and folded it quite down_

 _Til the garment was condensed so well_

 _She could fit it in a walnut shell._

 _In a silver box she placed the nut_

 _With a silver key she locked it shut._

 _Then she murmured to herself, "I pray_

 _It will never see the light of day."_


	10. Chapter 10

X.

 _But, the news came once again, too soon,_

 _"It is done! A dress just like the moon!"_

 _Lura cried, "But two weeks hath not gone -_

 _'Tis not possible that it were done!_

 _Surely, somehow I have been deceived:_

 _Such a thing is not to be believed."_

 _But alas! The tidings were correct:_

 _The second dress was ready to inspect._

 _Such a gown! So delicate and rare,_

 _Made from lengths of satin, light as air,_

 _Midnight-blue, ornately overlaid_

 _With a filigree of silver braid._

 _Pearls and opals dripped from every fold_

 _E'en more richly than the dress of gold,_

 _And a gorgeous cape of lustrous gleam_

 _Flowed and shimmered, in a silver stream._

 _'Twas so like a wintry moon at night_

 _That the chamber seemed all bathed with light._

 _The King appeared again, once more to ask_

 _If his workers had performed their task._

 _"Is it not as thou didst specify?_

 _Like the moon upon a winter's sky?"_

 _"Yes," the tearful maid replied, "'tis so._

 _Would that it were rent to pieces, though."_

 _To her bower Lura took the dress,_

 _There, its volumes she did well compress_

 _So within a walnut husk it might_

 _Be concealed, safely out of sight._

 _In her silver box the second nut_

 _Joined the first. Then all was fastened shut._

 _To herself the girl said, "I wouldst fain_

 _Never see those articles again."_


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

 _"It is made!" - The news spread wide and far,_

 _"A bridal gown as bright as Heaven's star!"_

 _"Nay, 'tis wrong," cried Lura, "- 'tis too fast!_

 _"One week hath not even fully passed._

 _These reports, for ought I know, are lies,_

 _Not to be believed, but with mine eyes."_

 _But the awful truth was too soon known:_

 _The wedding dress was ready to be shown._

 _Such a gown as never had before_

 _Mortal made, nor ever mortal wore. –_

 _Cut from snow-white silk, superbly fine_

 _Fashioned to an intricate design,_

 _Spangled with a thousand precious gems_

 _Fastened on its drapes and folds and hems:_

 _Dazzling sapphires, rubies rare and bright_

 _Matchless diamonds twinkling in the light._

 _And a jewel-encrusted bridal veil_

 _Glittered in a floating starry trail._

 _Truly, such a dress was never seen:_

 _Fit for – not a princess – but a Queen!_

 _Now the King approached. He said, "You see?_

 _I've fulfilled all thou didst ask of me."_

 _"Aye," admitted Lura, "but one thing –"_

 _"Nay! Thy time is up!" shouted the King._

 _"Long enough I've let thee stall and tarry._

 _On the morrow we do surely marry!"_

 _So, the princess, filled with grief and gloom_

 _Took her bridal gown unto her room_

 _Crushed and pressed it in a walnut shell_

 _Thence to stow it in the silver cell._

 _To herself she whispered, "By my life,_

 _I will never be my father's wife."_


	12. Chapter 12

XII.

 _Now the girl went to her window pane_

 _Threw it wide, and leaned out in the rain._

 _"Friends!" she cried aloud, "My forest friends!_

 _Wretched Lura's fate on thee depends!_

 _Come, ye creatures of the wood – appear!_

 _Lynx and lion, wolf and fox and bear,_

 _Come! Oh, badger, squirrel, shrew and mole_

 _Deer and otter, wild boar and vole!_

 _Heed thy princess in her darkest hour:_

 _Come, my forest friends, unto my bower!"_

 _Now the woods began to stir and shake_

 _The border copses seemed to part and break_

 _Then – O! Marvellous! O wondrous sight!_

 _A thousand creatures came into the light_

 _Creeping, bounding, leaping – out they came_

 _The great, the small, the nimble and the lame,_

 _The noblest of God's creatures, and the least,_

 _The fiercest hunter and the gentlest beast:_

 _All emerged and to the castle wended_

 _Through the thickets where the forest ended,_

 _'Cross wide pastures, over mead and heath_

 _To the royal castle, where beneath_

 _Lura's window they did swarm en masse._

 _"What's thy will, fair maid?" they asked the lass._

 _Quoth the princess, "Friends, I do beseech_

 _An essential favour from ye, each:_

 _Grant me one small piece of hide or hair,_

 _Just a tuft of what thou canst well spare._

 _For a cloak of furs, all patched and pied_

 _I would fain construct, in which to hide._

 _Please it God, equipped with such a cape,_

 _I'll devise the means of my escape."_

 _..._

END OF PART I.


	13. Chapter 13

PART II.

I.

 _In a certain richly-wooded glen_

 _Rode a prince with twelve of his best men,_

 _Huntsmen of keen skill and bold repute_

 _Fervid with the thrill of close pursuit._

 _See their quarry fly! – Down dell and dene,_

 _Over river black, through forest green –_

 _Here and there it dashed in frightened haste,_

 _After which the zealous huntsmen chased:_

 _For a rarer game they'd never spied,_

 _Aye – a beast of wondrous, dappled hide –_

 _Such a trophy as would bring renown_

 _To their kingdom's royal crest and crown._

 _At the fore, their gallant prince did speed_

 _Spurring on his mighty, champing steed_

 _For he fain would catch the lovely beast_

 _With such gorgeous fur all-over fleeced._

 _Now, at last, the object of their sport_

 _In a lofty birch some refuge sought,_

 _Clambering unto the highest parts_

 _Well beyond the hunters' deadly arts._

 _But the prince would not his quest forsake:_

 _"Bring an axe!" cried he, "Perchance we'll make_

 _That fair creature leave her hidden perch_

 _When we fell this tall and leafy birch."_

 _But before the first blow struck its mark_

 _Came a cry, "Ah, prince! – I beg thee, hark!_

 _I am but a poor forsaken waif,_

 _Cloaked in furs to keep me warm and safe!_

 _I'm no more a creature than thou art_

 _I've a human tongue and human heart –_

 _Pray do not attack me, for indeed,_

 _'Twere a shame to hurt a maid in need!"_


	14. Chapter 14

II.

 _So said Lura (for in troth 'twas she)_

 _Ere she left her haven in the tree._

 _Nimbly climbing down, she met the prince:_

 _He who'd meant to slay her not long since._

 _Greatly were the thirteen men amazed_

 _For to see a maid in garb so crazed:_

 _Like a-thousand scraps of fur, or more,_

 _Had been used to make the cloak she wore!_

 _Quoth the prince: "By chance, or by God's will,_

 _Thou art lucky to be living still._

 _It were greatly rash to wear that cape_

 _Covering too well thy human shape!"_

 _"Pray forgive my folly," Lura said,_

 _"I've no other clothes to wear instead."_

 _"What's thy name?" the prince did then enquire._

 _Said the princess, "I have not one, Sire."_

 _"Nor no parents – nor no kin or kith?"_

 _"None who I may claim relation with."_

 _Now the prince looked kindly on the lass._

 _"Go thy way," spake he, "I'll let thee pass."_

 _"Nay," said Lura, "Let me come with you!_

 _Give me some low chore or work to do:_

 _I would fain thy staff of servants join,_

 _Thence to earn some bread, or meager coin –_

 _For i'faith I dread to tarry more_

 _On this dank and lonely forest floor."_

 _"Aye," the prince agreed, "mayhap there be_

 _Some befitting servant's role for thee…_

 _I recall our Cook desired some aid:_

 _You may prove your worth to him, strange maid."_

 _So it passed the princess of one land,_

 _In another, turned low kitchen-hand._


	15. Chapter 15

III.

 _Every morning Lura woke at four,_

 _Swept the hearth and scrubbed the kitchen floor,_

 _Fetched great sacks of wood and lumps of peat,_

 _Lit the stoves and put the drums to heat._

 _All day long she laboured like a slave,_

 _Ever patient, diligent and brave,_

 _Minding well to heed the Head Cook's rule,_

 _"For," he told her, "If you prove a fool_

 _First I'll have thee flogged, and then exiled_

 _Back unto the reaches of the wild."_

 _But, indeed, his threats were vainly made:_

 _Every task was perfectly obeyed,_

 _So that, soon enough, it came to pass_

 _He could not well do without the lass!_

 _Now and then, as Lura scrubbed the stair_

 _Faravel the Prince did pass her there._

 _"Well met, Thousand-Furs!" he would exclaim,_

 _(For the girl was now known by that name)_

 _"And art thou content with thy new post?"_

 _"Less than some," quoth she, "but more than most."_

 _Then the prince would laugh and so depart_

 _Leaving Lura with an aching heart_

 _For, so be it known, the young princess_

 _Loved the prince with all her might - oh yes:_

 _Nights of tears, and days forlorn, were hers –_

 _Stifled well beneath her cape of furs._

 _And 'twas little wonder that she fell_

 _Under this most charming prince's spell:_

 _Passing fair, and bold and chivalrous,_

 _Kindly too – aye, and magnanimous:_

 _Never had before a young man's worth_

 _So well matched the station of his birth._


	16. Chapter 16

IV.

 _Days and weeks and months passed in this way._

 _Then, on one soft-sighing summer's day_

 _Certain news did reach the servant's hall:_

 _"There's to be a festival – A ball! –_

 _A celebration – Quite a grand event! –_

 _Feasting, revelling and merriment!_

 _Three whole days and nights the fête shall be,_

 _Of the most diverting gaiety,_

 _Thus to mark midsummer, and as well_

 _Find a bride for young Prince Faravel!"_

 _Soon the day arrived of the occasion:_

 _Many were the hours of preparation_

 _Lura toiled and laboured all day long_

 _For to cater well the gath'ring throng._

 _Then, as evening drew on fairly near_

 _"Thousand-Furs!" the Cook bawled out, "Come here!_

 _I'm still working on my masterpiece:_

 _Stuffed and Spitted Roast of Cockatrice,_

 _I've no time to spare to make the stew. –_

 _You shall do it. Aye, it must be you."_

 _So the princess did a soup prepare,_

 _And did serve it in each bowl with care_

 _But into the prince's dish she threw_

 _One small golden spinning-reel, too._

 _Luralai then went unto the Cook_

 _"Sir," said she, "Might I take just a look_

 _At the ladies finery tonight?_

 _I will hide myself far out of sight."_

 _With a chortle did the Cook reply:_

 _"You may go to see them by and bye. –_

 _But, beware to hide quite properly_

 _Else the prince might fall in love with thee!"_


	17. Chapter 17

V.

 _Oh, the mirth and revelry that night!_

 _See the ballroom decked so rich and bright!_

 _Watch the merry throng in fine array!_

 _Hear the thrumming music, loud and gay!_

 _Such a scene of lively, festal cheer:_

 _Noble knights pay court to damsels fair,_

 _Courtiers gossip, looking arch and wry,_

 _Dancers caper, lovers softly sigh,_

 _Matrons keep close watch on daughters slender,_

 _Bashful youths and blushing sylphs look tender,_

 _Dusky ladies do their lords beguile,_

 _Jesting rogues make all the comp'ny smile –_

 _Truly, 'tis a most delightful thing_

 _To behold this joyful gathering._

 _At the very centre of the crowd_

 _Stands Prince Faravel, handsome and proud,_

 _Regally attired in cloak and crest,_

 _Kindly greeting every honoured guest._

 _Pretty girls, demure and coy, stand near_

 _Through great feathered fans at him they peer._

 _Lovely damsels, in fine silks and sashes_

 _Watch the gallant prince through lowered lashes._

 _And within each maiden's veiled glance:_

 _Will the prince mayhap ask me to dance?_

 _Nay – it seems of all the maids he's met_

 _None has caught the prince's eye, as yet…_

 _Hark! What sound? A trumpeting fan-fare! –_

 _At the door, a figure doth appear –_

 _Like some vision, like some lovely dream,_

 _Like some fairy fancy does it seem!_

 _Ah! A gasp goes round the company:_

 _"Who is she?" They whisper – "who is she?"_


	18. Chapter 18

VI.

 _Luralai – a princess once again!_

 _She, so plagued in life with grief and pain,_

 _She, a runaway, a straggle-tag,_

 _She of broom and brush and lowly rag –_

 _Now clad in a gown of gorgeous gold_

 _Shimmering with jewels of worth untold,_

 _Like the very sun, she seems to shine!_

 _Such rare beauty seems, indeed, divine._

 _Awe-struck Faravel approaches now:_

 _"Dance with me," he says, "fair princess, thou."_

 _Just like so, the prince she does adore_

 _Now leads Luralai onto the floor._

 _And they dance. Nobody else is there._

 _Nothing can divide the smitten pair._

 _Do they speak? Aye, volumes, with their eyes:_

 _"We must love," they say, "or life despise."_

 _Hours pass like seconds. Fickle Time! –_

 _Even now the bells of midnight chime._

 _Lura softly murmurs, "I must go."_

 _"Nay," the prince implores her, "Say not so!_

 _Dance with me unto the break of day."_

 _But the princess quickly slips away._

 _Faravel does now her steps pursue:_

 _Down long stairs and shadowed courtyards through,_

 _Down and down into the servants' hall_

 _To the scullery and kitchen stall._

 _But, alas, the girl has vanished quite!_

 _There's no damsel anywhere in sight,_

 _Only that queer creature cloaked in fur._

 _Thwarted Faravel addresses her:_

 _"Has a golden princess come this way?"_

 _Lura bows her head. She answers, "Nay."_


	19. Chapter 19

VII.

 _In the morn, the Cook called Luralai._

 _"Thou wilt answer me, and tell no lie:_

 _Art thou versed in witchcraft, Thousand-furs?_

 _For it seems thy soup the court prefers._

 _Tell me, didst thou not perform a spell_

 _For to make its flavour taste so well?"_

 _"Nay," said Lura, "I've no witch's art,_

 _'Tis a recipe I've learned by heart."_

 _"Aye," the Cook said, "But now explicate_

 _Some gold trinket in the Prince's plate?"_

 _Lura shook her head. "That I cannot._

 _Mayhap something fell into the pot."_

 _"Never mind. – Tonight you shall repeat_

 _That same stew the court so liked to eat."_

 _So once more, as evening drew on near_

 _Lura did the royal soup prepare,_

 _But, into the dish for Faravel,_

 _A spindle made of gold she cast as well._

 _Then she begged the Cook, "Do let me see_

 _All the splendid jewels and finery!"_

 _"Aye," laughed he, "but care to not be seen:_

 _Thou couldst be mistaken for a Queen!"_

 _To her quarters Luralai did race,_

 _Thence to wash her sooty hands and face._

 _Next she drew a little leathern bag_

 _(Well-disguised to look like some old rag)_

 _From that bag she drew her silver box,_

 _With a silver key she loosed its locks,_

 _From that box a walnut shell she took,_

 _This she cracked and opened. – Then she shook_

 _From that husk her shining silver dress._

 _… Thousand-Furs once more becomes: Princess._


	20. Chapter 20

VIII.

 _Dancing in her handsome prince's arms_

 _Lura's dreams have never held such charms._

 _Here is happiness! Here is sweet cheer!_

 _Here is love! – Aye, love is surely here._

 _All the court is struck with the princess,_

 _"What fine jewels!" they cry, "What gorgeous dress –_

 _Like a moonbeam on a wintry night!_

 _Never have we seen so fair a sight."_

 _Only some few jealous girls declare:_

 _"I see little grace or beauty there –_

 _Dare I say it, I would look as well_

 _Standing up with dashing Faravel…_

 _And that dress would any maiden flatter!"_

 _But, indeed, they do mistake the matter. –_

 _Lura's beauty is no shallow thing:_

 _Born of goodness, shaped by suffering,_

 _Forged within a patient, loving heart:_

 _All these things set Luralai apart._

 _On and on the happy couple dance,_

 _Like as if within some magic trance –_

 _But – alack! The midnight bell doth chime._

 _Will the lovely princess stay this time?_

 _Nay, she slips away like some shy sprite_

 _Hastening into the inky night._

 _Once more Faravel her course pursues:_

 _Through the gardens, past the sheds and mews,_

 _Down into the servants' low domain:_

 _But, alas, he seeks for her in vain –_

 _She has simply vanished in thin air._

 _Only Thousand-Furs is sitting there._

 _"Hast thou seen a silver maid?" asks he._

 _Lura answers, "Nay. 'Tis only me."_


	21. Chapter 21

IX.

 _In the morn, the Cook said, "Now – confess!_

 _Sure thou art a witch or sorceress!_

 _Once again, the court so loved your stew_

 _They have sent their compliments to you._

 _Tell me, what's the charm or spell you favour_

 _For to make so excellent a flavour?"_

 _Lura answered, "Nay, it is not so!_

 _'Tis but some old recipe I know."_

 _"That may be," the Cook said. "Now expound_

 _Why some golden article was found_

 _In the Prince's plate? – That came from where?"_

 _Lura said, "Perchance it fell in there."_

 _"Aye," the Cook replied, "- i'faith, I wish_

 _Such rare things would fall into my dish!_

 _How-so-e'er, tonight you shall, once more,_

 _Make the soup the courtiers adore."_

 _So, that evening, Lura made her stew,_

 _Ladling it within the dishes too –_

 _And, into the prince's bowl did fling_

 _A little, finely-crafted golden ring._

 _Now she begged the Cook, "Do let me go!"_

 _But alas! This time he said, "Not so,_

 _You must run some errands first. I need_

 _Two great sacks of sifted millet-seed,_

 _And a bag of corn, and one of rye._

 _Also, fetch some apples by and bye,_

 _And a barrowful of orchard plums._

 _Lastly, fill and heat the water drums._

 _Once you do complete these duties all_

 _Then you may away, to see the ball._

 _But," he laughed, "remember well to hide:_

 _Or the prince may choose thee for his bride!"_


	22. Chapter 22

X.

 _Faravel waits on the stairs, outside._

 _"Where's my love?" says he, "Where is my bride?"_

 _Why doth she her loyal prince forsake?_

 _Wherefore wouldst she cause my heart to break?_

 _Where is she?" – Ah, little does he know_

 _That his princess toils and slaves below._

 _Still he lingers. Now the clock strikes nine._

 _"I will wait," says he, "'til death be mine."_

 _One hand clasps a little golden ring. –_

 _In his plate of soup he'd found the thing._

 _"It is hers," he murmurs, "it must be._

 _None could fit so small a band, but she!"_

 _On and on he waits. The clock strikes ten._

 _Still he keeps his post – oh, best of men!_

 _So much wretchedness, such anxious woe_

 _Must have even moved a heart of snow._

 _But what's this? A figure now appears_

 _At the foot of those long marble stairs..._

 _It is she! His love! His true princess!_

 _Resplendently arrayed in bridal dress,_

 _Shimmering and lustrous, dazzling-bright,_

 _Banishing the shadows from the night,_

 _Lovely as a star. Truly, she seems_

 _Like some fairy-bride of far-flown dreams._

 _But she is too beautiful. The prince_

 _Now is filled with awe and reticence._

 _To one knee he sinks by Luralai._

 _"I'm not worthy of thee," he doth sigh._

 _Lura speaks: "Then order me away._

 _I will cease to live another day."_

 _"Nay!" the prince cries, springing to his feet._

 _"Stay with me forever, I entreat!"_


	23. Chapter 23

XI.

 _So they dance, there, on the marble stairs._

 _Truly blissful, for true love is theirs._

 _In the pearly moonlight, he and she_

 _Pledge their hearts for all eternity._

 _Music permeates the glitt'ring hall_

 _Laughing chatter floats down from the ball_

 _Prince and Princess hear it not, for they_

 _Share a world together, far away._

 _But, e'en now, eleven bells do chime._

 _Thus, once more, is Love betrayed by Time._

 _"Leave me not tonight," pleads Faravel,_

 _"I do grow to dread the midnight bell."_

 _Lura shakes her head. "It is bad form,_

 _Promising what one may not perform."_

 _"Ah, then thou wilt go!" the prince cries, "- Why? –_

 _Wherefore must thou always from me fly?"_

 _Lura answers not. In truth, she bears_

 _In her heart some secret, troubling fears._

 _Once she was a rich princess, 'tis true,_

 _But, what now? What if her lover knew_

 _She was Thousand-Furs, the kitchen hand?_

 _Lowest, poorest servant in the land!_

 _With no rank, nor fortune of her own -_

 _Would he love her still, if all were known?_

 _Sadly Lura muses on these things_

 _'Til the herald bell of midnight rings._

 _"I must go," says she, "I must away."_

 _Vainly doth the prince beg her to stay:_

 _Back into the night she fain would steal!_

 _\- In her haste to go she does not feel_

 _Faravel slip that small golden band_

 _On the wedding finger of her hand._


	24. Chapter 24

XII.

 _Heaven halt thy footsteps, Luralai!_

 _Do not from thy destiny so fly!_

 _In thy quest to save thy heart from pain_

 _Thou couldst lose much more than thou wouldst gain!_

 _...Down she runs, down paths that twist and turn_

 _Down long lanes fringed thick with flax and fern,_

 _Past the orchard, grove and garden row_

 _Down unto the servants' floor below._

 _In the dim-lit kitchen, Luralai_

 _Finds her cloak of furs, concealed nearby,_

 _Quickly doth she seize and don the same_

 _Throwing it around her slender frame._

 _But Prince Faravel hath made close chase -_

 _There's no time to soot her hands or face,_

 _Nor to bind her shining golden hair,_

 _Ere the prince doth suddenly appear._

 _"Thou! - Again!" cries he with kindled ire._

 _"Truly, doth my bride with thee conspire?_

 _'An I lose her, thou art ever there!_

 _Ragged waif, in place of princess fair!"_

 _Sharp words can cut deeper than sharp blades._

 _Lura turns away, her colour fades._

 _"Ah, then I perceive," the girl replies,_

 _"'Tis her wealth and beauty thou dost prize."_

 _Faravel is chastened. "Nay! I swear,_

 _'Tis her heart and soul for which I care._

 _Please it God, I'd offer her my hand_

 _Were she lowest subject in this land._

 _If thou art her confidante, indeed,_

 _Tell me how to find her, do - I plead!"_

 _Catching up her hand in plaintive hold_

 _Faravel sees there - - - a flash of gold!_


	25. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

 _So this story ends, as many do,_

 _With the wedding of two lovers true._

 _Never was a prince and his princess_

 _Blessed with such enduring happiness,_

 _That e'en now the storybooks still tell_

 _The tale of Luralai and Faravel._

 _As for certain other persons' fates,_

 _I record as History dictates:_

 _Lura's sisters – that kind, gentle pair -_

 _Through their lives didst not too badly fare:_

 _Daramina wed a handsome duke_

 _Far above all but her own rebuke;_

 _Mirabelle a noble earl didst win_

 _Thrice that lady's age, and rich as sin._

 _Other trials or triumphs of those maids_

 _Time's obscurity forever fades._

 _As for their poor father, the mad King,_

 _Lura's flight did him to reason bring,_

 _Bitterly he cursed the fevered spell_

 _That so nearly damned his soul to hell._

 _To a monastery he did repair,_

 _Spending his last days in humble prayer,_

 _Seeking to with God be reconciled_

 _For the wrongs he did his youngest child._

 _Yet, perchance, it was all meant to be:_

 _Fortune must defer to Destiny._

 _Hardship, grief and woe will surely pass;_

 _Love must triumph. Ever it were thus._

 _So concludes my chronicle. - I fain_

 _Wouldst recount it all to thee again,_

 _For there be no stranger fate than hers:_

 _She, who once was known as "Thousand-Furs."_

 _..._

THE END


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